


When the Sun Sets in the East

by decembersiris



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Afterlife, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, The House with the Red Door, a more genuine jon, a more sympathetic daenerys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 22:48:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19386100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decembersiris/pseuds/decembersiris
Summary: Daenerys watched him from atop the stairs, watched him as he rocked back and worth, pressing her to him, kissing her cold lips over and over, muttering into her face as if a prayer would restore her. She desperately wished to go to him, her heart breaking as she watched the man she loved mourn her death. She should feel rage, feel hatred. She should desire retribution, revenge against the man that betrayed her and took her life. But what she felt most was the loss of what could have been.





	When the Sun Sets in the East

**Author's Note:**

> When you're left with terrible writing, and all you want is that terrible writing to try to be a little better, even just a little, and you don't even get that, that's where this fic comes in. A somewhat of a fix-it fic to Daenerys untimely, unnecessary, unfulfilling end. And hints at why some characters *stares at Drogon* did what they did. In other words, a take on what we should have seen and how the characters should have interacted as Daenerys' death scene took place.
> 
> PS I shouldn't have to say this, but please don't come at me with hate. It's a waste of everyone's time. Don't like it, there's the back button. I don't need your insipid arguments and bitter comments on a fic I worked really hard on. Thanks.

Daenerys opened her eyes to darkness as endless as the Red Waste. No matter where her eyes led her, if they even moved, she saw nothing but black, and as she looked, she wondered if she had awoken at all. She strained her ears, listening, waiting though her hopes were low enough to expect not a sound in return. There was silence, nothing save her own breathing as she shuddered, feeling neither warm nor cold in the vast void. Despite her uncertainty of her own fate and unable to recollect what brought her to this state, she felt utterly calm within the dark and quiet. She did not question this. She did not feel the need to, her mind empty of thought as she stared into the dark that seemed to strip her of her burdens. And as she remained unmoving, unfeeling, she began to taste a sourness on her tongue. It was thick and bitter, such that even her nose curled at the tart, unpleasant smell that accompanied her taste buds. She had tasted this before as it slowly slid down her throat, something like metal, and the spot above her heart burned.

In the middle of that eternal darkness, a faint crimson glow came into view. It was small and far off, a single scarlet star like a stain within the velvet midnight, and she watched it carefully, patiently, wondering where she had seen it before. And then it began to move, a slow trail of rust following it, dusting her ebony world with faint red light as the star slowly began to grow. Daenerys strained her eyes as she watched it, the shining scarlet becoming more brilliant and larger with it passing moment as it began to pick up its pace, but she could not turn away, captivated by its radiance as it streaked across the world from west to east. And then its swiftness began to slow again, its size ever growing as it began to curl and change direction. It was coming toward her, she realized, the bright star careening for her, and there was nothing she could do, no force in the world to make her move. Even as it hurled for her, she could not tear her eyes away, the crimson bleeding into white as the star overwhelmed her senses, blinding her until she could no longer withstand it, lifting her hand to shield her eyes.

The white, brighter than snow, was almost nauseating. It made her head ache and ears ring as if she’d been hit by the pommel of a sword, but she could not shut her eyes. And as the ringing began to fade, she heard a noise that turned her blood cold. A terrible shrill sound erupted through the whiteness, a sharp screeching that tore at her heart, for she knew that sound far better than anyone could ever know. It was the sound of a dragon crying. Its far away call was that of pain, of mourning, and Daenerys searched through the white emptiness, listening as the dragon’s screams turned softer, gruffer. She blinked, her peripheral vision wavering, the blinding white relinquishing its hold as it faded inward to a stone-like gray. She could no longer hear the dragon, its cries replaced by something nearer now, something harrowing, something human. A wolf howled in the distance.

Daenerys found herself no longer overwhelmed by either black or white. She stood amidst snow and ash, adorned in her black winter gown. Beneath her feet was stone though the walls that surrounded her had crumbled and fell along with the ceiling. She looked about, turning her head as she saw ruble all about her as she stood upon the topmost steps of the grand room. The wind blew gently, picking up her silver hair and she lifted her pale, lilac eyes to watch as snow and cinders mingled, dancing down to the floor. She did not feel cold amongst such relentless frost. She was at ease, in fact, as if she belonged to the snow. And then she saw standing before her, unsure of how she had missed it then, hundreds, thousands of metal swords welled together into one great chair. She marveled at it, feeling her heart beat quicken as if she knew of such an oddity as a sword-made chair. Instinct guided her feet, her eyes fixed on the seat, her heart yearning for it as if her life had amounted to this very moment. She reached out her hand, voices of a time long gone calling for her to seize it, take it, claim her birthright as she was born to, by fire and blood.

A shallow sound halted her movements, rooted her where she stood. She listened with resolute interest, wanting to understand the sound, to recognize it within her memory, fighting the calls, the demands of the voices in her mind. Daenerys dropped her hand, her heart hammering in her chest as she struggled to breathe. The sound was that which replaced the dragon, that human sound of grief, despair. Craning her head, she turned with her back to the chair and could move no further as her memory returned at the sight.

At the base of the stairs, Jon Snow, in wolf’s black and leathers, was on his knees. He was weeping, his body shaking as he cradled the still warm body of Daenerys Targaryen in his arms, blood seeping from her mouth, her nose, from the wound in her chest. The red spilled into the crystal snow, soaking him as he held her, and he was unwilling to let her go.

Daenerys watched him from atop the stairs, watched him as he rocked back and worth, pressing her to him, kissing her cold lips over and over, muttering into her face as if a prayer would restore her. She desperately wished to go to him, her heart breaking as she watched the man she loved, her murderer, mourn her death. She should feel rage, feel hatred. She should desire retribution, revenge against the man that betrayed her and took her life. But what she felt most was the loss of what could have been, standing alongside him as his wife as they ruled the Seven Kingdoms together.

“Dany…” he whispered into her silver hair.

She gasped and shuddered, tears beading her lashes. But she could not move from where she stood no matter how much she wanted to. Her lips tightened into a line as wetness streaked her cheeks, and she placed her shaking hand on her stomach. Perhaps if she had told him it would have been enough to stop his hand. Perhaps he would have realized how much he meant to her, how sorely she sought for a child of her own, their child that could have been.

But it didn’t matter now.

A roar thundered over the world as the black mass of Drogon appeared like smoke through the low, gray clouds, his wings spreading out as he fluttered down to stomp into what was left of the throne room. Daenerys watched her dragon as he spied her body curled in Jon’s arms. Drogon’s nostrils flared, sniffing the air as his golden eyes remained unblinking as he watched Jon. Daenerys’ heart beat furiously, recognizing that look of wrath in her child’s eyes. Drogon stretched out his neck and Jon clutched her body tighter, and for a moment Daenerys thought she could feel his warmth. He shut his eyes as Drogon sniffed him, and she sensed Jon knew what fate awaited him. She should have felt pride to see her child move to avenge her, but instead she felt utter fear, terror, her stomach turning to stone as Drogon retracted his neck, his throat opening, sparks sputtering from his giant maw. Drogon gave out a roar, a shriek of pain, his fangs close to grazing Jon’s face as the man leaned down, pressing his body against hers.

Fire smoked from Drogon’s mouth, Daenerys could see, so close to erupting, and her breathing hitched, screaming out, “Don’t!”

And Drogon, as if recognizing his mother’s call from this limbo state she resided in, turned his head towards where she now stood. She wondered for a moment if he saw her, the pleading fear, the despair. Drogon looked past her to the Iron Throne, the sparks still spitting from his throat until he could contain himself no longer, unleashing dragonfire upon the seat of swords. Daenerys’ chest rose and fell, her eyes shimmering as she watched the throne slowly warp and melt at her feet, glancing back at her dragon as he stepped closer to the throne for a moment before he snapped his jaw shut. He snorted smoke from his nose and hissed. Daenerys wanted to go to him, to press her hand against the warmth of his scales, to embrace him and take him up into the skies. She wanted to disappear with him as she saw him rear his head before screaming out, flapping his wings as he lifted himself in the air. He shook his head back and forth, his long neck curling and bending as he raised his head again to roar, flames spewing from his maw and the decrepit walls and pillars rattled in terrible response.

Within the clouds Daenerys could faintly see the black shadow of her child and the orange glow of the fire he breathed. His wings beat vigorously, and she watched as he flew out of the clouds again, gliding over the Narrow Sea toward Essos—the sun setting in the east. For a moment she imagined him heading to Volantis, but her thoughts were interrupted by the crunching of snow.

Jon slowly got to his feet with her body still in his arms. He was careful with her, gingerly placing her head against his chest as he secured his hold on her, staring down at her face as he began to a walk out of the throne room. Daenerys stared at his retreating figure and the bloody steps he left in the white snow. Her eyes sparkled like liquid glass as her throat tightened when she swallowed, lifting her chin as she watched him leave her.

When he was gone from her sight, she turned her head away and shuddered out a breath she had not realized she was holding. She glanced at what was left of the throne; it was more of a misshapen, half melted mound of swords than the intimating reminder of the might of the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. She frowned at it, despising it for the woes it had brought upon her family, for not being able to destroy it in life, to break the wheel with Jon at her side. Sorrow and rage gripped at her heart, and she wanted for comfort.

The parts of the throne that liquefied to fiery red and iron embers sporadically licked into flames, and Daenerys eyed the tiny blazes, imaging herself stepping into the flames and becoming ashes. She sighed through her nose, and wrapped her arms about herself, waiting for nothing. Then, as if the gods took pity on her silence, came the soft chirping of a bird, and she turned her head towards the noise. To her astonishment, a large tree stood before her, its roots broken through the stone floor, reached and spread beneath the stone deep enough for the tree to grow sturdy and strong as if it had stood for a millennia. As she stared at the tree, the long ever-reaching branches and vibrant emerald leaves, she saw too that it bore lemons. She spied a robin just as it flew off, chirping as it went. And behind the branches of the lemon tree patiently sat a red door.

She did not know what to feel at the sight before her. Grief still encased her heart though the rage had managed to dissipate, she could not stop herself from glancing behind, half hoping to find Jon waiting for her. But all that was left was a blood soaked trail and his footsteps.

She could not stop the loneliness that clutched at her bones as she looked back at the tree and door. She waited, unsure if she should move, if, after all this time, she was worthy of the childhood dream of home. She did not know if she was ready to leave this reality, if she could face her end alone. She bit her lip, hugging herself, alone no matter what.

Daenerys dropped her arms and gazed at the scarlet door. Her palm itched for another hand, and she struggled to ignore it as she ghosted over the snow, stepping beneath the branches of her lemon tree. The smell of citrus waft through her nose, and under the leaves, green and yellow, she almost felt serene; she almost smiled. As she reached the door, she lifted her hand, hesitant to clasp the doorknob, but before she could make the choice, the door opened inward. Silver light shown through, warm, bright, as the door slowly swung on its hinges. She paused, searching through the light as it overwhelmed her, wondering what waited for her beyond the threshold. Holding her breath, she took a step forward and passed through.

The bright silver dissolved like mist around her. Golden sunlight caressed her cheeks, and a gentle breeze swept over her. She could taste the salt of the sea on her tongue and hear the waves as they crashed against the shore of Braavos. Her breathing quivered, her lips pulling into a line as she rested her hands on the thick stone balustrade. From above on her balcony, she glanced over the city before her, at the tranquil blue of the ocean, listening to the birds that flew above her singing solace and ease into the cracks within her heart. To her left she could see the top leaves of her lemon tree growing beneath the balcony. Her lips curled into the smallest smile, but as quickly as it came, it faded. This wasn’t enough, she knew, sorrow eating away at the edges of her heart.

“Khaleesi,” came a gruff voice from behind.

Her heart leapt into her throat. She turned around to find Jorah Mormont stepping onto the balcony dressed in the armor he wore on that fateful long night in Winterfell. Daenerys gasped as he smiled at her, her emotions overwhelming her as she rushed toward him. She embraced him. He wrapped his arms about her as she pressed her cheek against the cool metal, feeling her eyes burn with tears. She pulled away and smiled up at him in relief but could not stop her lip from trembling, “Jorah—”

“Please, Your Grace, there is no need.”

Her jaw tightened, tears flooding her cheeks, “I held you, and you were gone.”

His lips parted a moment, his expression falling to melancholy, “To save your life, I’d suffer a thousand deaths more.” He paused to brush away her tears, “I’m sorry I could not have been there to stop this.”

Her blood tingled beneath her skin, and she shut her eyes hating to recall her own fate. She forced away the thought and opened her eyes as she stepped away from him, wrapping her arms about herself. Breathing heavily through her nose, she said, “We cannot change what has become of us.” She swallowed harshly, fighting the burning in her throat and eyes again.

“I apologize for speaking of it,” said Jorah woefully. “Let us not speak of it again.”

She glanced down at the stone floor before nodding.

He gently smiled down at her, “We are happy to see you again, Your Grace.”

Her expression slipped into confusion, but Jorah’s face lit with blithe mirth as he presented his arm to her. She did not hesitate to take his arm, and he led her from the balcony to the garden. The garden was filled with green life, flowers of all different colors from crimson reds to icy blues, and vines and lilac wisteria dangled from the pergola and veranda above. Water trickled from the elaborate fountain at the center that featured a rearing horse, and towards the back beyond the fountain, Daenerys spied wildly curled black hair and honey kissed almond skin. Immediately, Daenerys released Jorah’s arm, ignoring all refinery that had once been so expected of her, and ran to her friend who stood up on the steps above the surrounding garden. Missandei gleamed, tears in her eyes just as Daenerys had, could not take more than a few steps toward her before her queen embraced her.

“I’m so sorry,” Daenerys said, sniffing, resting her head on her shoulder.

Missandei gently ran her fingers through her silken silver hair before placing a kind hand on the back of her head. “It wasn’t your hand, my Queen.”

She lifted her head to stare into friend’s face. Tears glassed her eyes, a tightness about her lips as she seethed with frustration, guilt, sadness. “I was the Breaker of Chains, and I couldn’t save you.”

“You gave me freedom I never thought I could ever have. To live and die for you was the path we both chose, and I can think of no greater honor.” Missandei said with a tender smile before placing a kiss upon her queen’s brow.

Daenerys smiled at her, a look of gratitude, of love as they released each other. From above they could hear the sound of large wings beating in the air, and looking up, they saw the brilliant forms of Rhaegal and Viserion high above them. Daenerys smiled, one that reached her eyes, and she placed her hands to her lips in overwhelming joy as her children roared together. They circled around in the sky, their shadows dancing over them—Daenerys’ heart swelled full to burst as she watched them—before disappearing behind the house and out of view.

“We are not the only family who has been waiting for you,” Jorah said as he walked up the steps to stand beside the two.

Daenerys glanced between them in mild perplexity and uncertainty, and with their palms up, Jorah and Missandei extended an arm toward the door opening behind them. Daenerys only just noticed it then, wondering how she hadn’t seen it before. The threshold was without a door and covered with animal hide. She paused a moment, staring at the animal covering, her heart thudding against her ribcage as her blood rushed with fiery warmth and sudden anxiety. Taking a breath, she approached the animal hide and pulled it back, stepping into the room and dropping the flap.

She froze where she stood, her feet like the deep roots of her beautiful lemon tree. Her heart dropped into her stomach as the color drained from her face, her limbs shaking beyond her control. She could say nothing as she stared at the hulking figure sitting on the floor before her, his smile, a light curl of the lip, and piercing eyes stealing the breath from her lungs.

“Moon of my life.” His deep voice was rough and thick, and her heart leapt to hear those gentle words again that stirred in her memories of that old time where she had been happy.

And still, it nearly scared her to know that she had all but forgotten what he sounded like. But she would not think of that, not now as he sat before her, the elated expression of Khal Drogo growing with each passing moment. Her lilac eyes sparkled with renewed tears, and she shuddered a breath as he stood to his feet, his large muscled form in Dothraki leathers carrying the little bundle that was Rhaego. Their babe babbled at the sight of her, and it was then that Daenerys could shake her astonishment and rush to her husband and child.

She embraced her husband, her voice trembling in perfect Dothraki, “I have returned to you, my sun and stars.”

He sighed contentedly, resting his head into the crook of her neck. She closed her eyes, surrounded by his warmth, molding into his form with ease as she had done in life. If only she could have taken him with her across the Narrow Sea. How different things would have been, and she thought of Jon Snow, her heart stinging with longing.

She tried to turn those thoughts away as she smiled down at Rhaego, the little one reaching for his mother. She took him in her arms, and he squeaked and cooed as Drogo led Daenerys to sit by his side amongst the blankets and pillows that covered the ground. As she sat, she breathed out, suddenly overwhelmed, remembering what had become of both her husband and her child. She remembered too all that she had fought for, all she had done in Essos without him, all she had left behind in Westeros, her Targaryen name forever tarnished. Guilt and grief were all she could feel, and not even her baby’s face or husband’s hand could suppress all she felt as she bitterly wept.

“I failed,” she said. “I was betrayed. I was denied my chance after fighting for so long.”

Daenerys felt her husband’s eyes on her, and she wanted to feel comfort in his gaze. Truly, she did, but instead felt only the increasing bitterness, unable to look at their child. Drogo then lifted his hand, placing his fingers beneath her chin as he turned her head to look at him. His lips moved, but nothing came forth. She could see he was searching for the right words, his eyes staring deeply into hers.

“I…” He struggled with the common tongue, “would have gone with you—for your throne.”

Her heart warmed at the sentiment, but she found it difficult to look into his eyes.

He sighed, returning to Dorthaki, “You love him, that Snow.”

At this Daenerys looked up at him, surprised as she realized just how much he knew.

“But he does not reside in the Night Lands,” Drogo went on. “This is where we are. No battles. No iron chair. Only us.”

He leaned down, pressing his forehead down against hers, and she closed her eyes at his gentle touch. She had forgotten just how much she had missed this.

“Can you be happy with us, my Khaleesi?” His question was sincere, a genuine, unabashed tenderness about him that she had only seen a few times in their short lives together. It both broke and melted her heart.

Her throat worked as she swallowed, her voice rasping out, “Yes.”

His kiss was almost hesitant, shaky and swift, and such uncertainty from him startled her. He wasn’t the Khal she remembered, but then again, she was not his self same Khaleesi. But that would not shake her, it would not rob her of what she had always harbored in her heart. So she pressed her lips against his, more sure, passionate, and Drogo grinned between her kisses. She allowed herself to smile too, something soft, something warm, finding comfort in his touch as he ran his fingers through her hair.

Rhaego cooed as his chubby hands took hold of his mother’s finger, and she beamed down at him, her heart swelling with affection. She shifted his position in her arms, cuddling him as his lilac eyes shined up at her. Drogo rested his head against hers as he wrapped his arm about her waist, and he toyed with a lock of her hair between his fingers, silent and content. And Daenerys felt it too, listening while her dragons flew in the blue sky above her in her house with the red door.


End file.
